


Burned to ashes

by Vernisee



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Brave Jaskier | Dandelion, Character Death, Curses, Emotional Hurt, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, M/M, Sad Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Sacrifice, emotionally conspired witcher, jaskier suffers again, or blessings, to be found out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29846691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vernisee/pseuds/Vernisee
Summary: Sometimes carelessness and inattention can lead to truly horrific events. A moment of distraction and you spend the rest of your life feeling guilty. After witnessing Jaskier's death the witcher is forced to pick himself up from a pile of rubble. He has to come to terms with the fact that the bard is gone and has to move on with his life. But then again, Jaskier always had a rather nasty habbit of sticking glued to Geralt's side, hadn't he?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	Burned to ashes

Geralt was looking at his hands, which were lying involuntarily on his lap. They were clean now, but the witcher couldn’t stop his imagination from recreating the picture of them covered up in crimson liquid. After decades of slaying monsters and dealing with multiple evil people he should be resistant to this kind of images. And he was. Gutted creatures and chopped off fragments of the human body made no impression on him. They were part of his job.

The thing was, this particular crimson liquid was never meant to stain his hands. Not in such an amount and certainly not with such a result. In case of a witcher, being covered in blood always meant that said witcher had intention of spilling it. This time he wanted to prevent the blood from being spilled any further. He wanted to force it to stay inside.

He still could feel gentle involuntary movements of resistance as he pressed the wound harder and harder. The sound of quiet choked whimpers of pain still echoed in his head, even though more than a month has already passed.

Geralt clinched his hands. He will never again hear any whimpers, or complaints, or pointless chatter, or laugher made by that voice. He will never hear any annoyingly inacurate songs about his hunts, too.

He knew it would end up like this since the very beginning. Human lifes were short and fragile. And that meant that at some point, if he ever let himself feel attachment to any human, he would end up hurt and alone once again. And then that loneliness would be even greater and far more painful. So he was fighting his feelings, pushing away the annoying human who glued himself to his side, treating him like a dirt and a nuisance, all because he was afraid of that loneliness, which was the inevitable end of their growing friendship.

He regretted it mightly now. It took him a lot of time to realize that his stubbornness in avoiding admitting his feelings led to nothing more than wasting the time they had left together. Geralt understood that few days after that fucking mountain. He realized that denial of friendship didn’t actually mean that the friendship wasn’t created. He somehow got himself attached to that damned human anyway.

That was why the witcher was so relieved when he and Ciri stumbled upon him around a year after the dragon quest. Ever since the war began, he feared the reckless bard could fall a victim of aggressors. After all, he was a master of getting into all sorts of troubles. Geralt tried to look for him at first, without any success, and later had to take care of the orphaned princess. And then, at least once in his life, destiny gave him something he actually deeply wanted – a chance to make amends with Jaskier. Or so he thought. Especially when Jaskier accepted his pathetic attempts of an apology and agreed to accompany him and Ciri to Kaer Morhen under the excuse of Nilfgaard possibly wanting to capture the White Wolf’s bard in order to get some information about his whereabouts.

He really should have known that destiny was a cruel bitch.

It was unexpected. They have been caught off of guard. Gerald should have seen unease movements of people in the inn and their muted whispers. He should have realized they have been recognized and that almost certainly someone was already on their way to the nearest Nilfgaard’s stationing point to report on them and collect the prize.

But his eyes were focused only on Jaskier, who was jumping around with his lute, singing a truly filthy song with a rakish smirk on his face. It almost made him want to cover Ciri’s ears, but the joyful laugher of the poor girl melted his stone heart. He was sure that the bard chosen this particular song to cheer the princess up. They quickly got along, just like the witcher thought they would. The tension between the two of them was still strong, though. Jaskier told him he forgave him, but it didn’t seem like he forgot. They were constantly circling around those damend words he had screamed at the top of the mountain, without getting to the point. Geralt knew he should be the one to start the conversation, to let Jaskier know that by some completely unknown reason the bard became indispensable part of the witcher’s life. He was a coward, though. He told himself that the war was not the best time to be sentimental and that he will speak with Jaskier once they reach safety of Kaer Morhen.

He though he had time. Never in his life was he more mistaken.

„He really is the best bard on the continent!”, Ciri squealed once Jaskier finished the song and was immodestly taking compliments from the patrons.

„Don’t tell him that if you don’t want for his head to burst due to an overgrowth of ego”, the witcher smirked in his tank of ale.

Ciri was right, though. There was something in Jaskier that was making him different than any other bard he has ever heard. It was easy to fall for his charms and theatrics. He could see it already during their first meeting over twenty years ago and his talents only grew ever since. The maturiy surely made his performances more convincing. Though, if Geralt had to be honest, delicate crow feet and single gray hair he could see on the bard’s head were worrying him greatly. They were a sign that Jaskier’s time was limited and, as for the witcher’s knowledge, his bard has probably had a half of his life already behind him.

It turned out he was wrong here, too.

Nilfgaardians rushed in without a warning. They had them surrounded before Geralt could even draw his sword. All possible escape routes were immediately cut off. They had to be informed about the the layout of the building. The witcher cursed under his breath, covering Ciri with his body, so she was now safely stashed between him and the wall.

„Well, well, well. Look who we finally bumped into. You are quite hard to find, dear witcher”, said the man who without the doubt was the commander. He was nonchalantly playing with the blade in his hand, as if he didn’t think the witcher could be any threat for him.”Hand over the girl and maybe we will spare your life”.

Geralt only growled. The man obviously didn’t deserve the answer in words.

„Very well”, he laughed. „I wanted to solve the matter in a civilized way, but if you insist on behaving like a wild animal, be my guest”. He turned to his soldier to give a short command. „Kill him”, he ordered

And that was how the hell beagn.

He was so focused on securing Ciri that he had paid little to no attention to Jaskier. Only with a corner of his eye he caught the sight of the colorful doublet disappearing behind the counter. As for the bard’s usual recklessness, he also had the exceptional talent to sneak out of trouble, once he got himself into one. So Geralt trusted Jaskier will find a safe spot to wait out the fight.

That is where he was mistaken once again.

In a growing chaos he did not realize the upcoming tragedy. There were so many panicked voices of patrons who desperately tried to get out of the tavern, only to fall victims to irritated Nilfgaardians. The loud sounds of the blade hitting the blade as he was blocking next blows of enemies. The agonizing screams as his sword found a way into yet another body. The frightened sobs of Ciri above all of that.

It wasn’t hard to miss the commander lurking under the counter and yanking Jaskier out. He had a right not to hear the bard’s sounds of protests and struggles to free himself. Geralt tried to convince himself that it wouldn’t change a thing. He was on the other side of the room, surrouned by other soldiers, with a princess still hidden behind his back. There was no way he could have been able to help Jaskier. Yet, he still felt guilty that he realized the bard was captured only when a loud protracted whistle cut the overwhelming noise.

„Witcher!”, he heard the commander’s smooth voice. „It seems I have something of yours”.

Nilfgaardians backed off a little bit, so that Geralt could cautiously look in the commander’s way. The sight made him feel like an icicle just went straight through his heart. The dread literally flooded him.

The commander was shielding himself with Jaskier’s body, holding a dagger blade tightly on his neck. Geralt could see a small trail of blood running down the bard’s neck, slowly staining the collar of his white chemise. Jaskier stood motionless, clearly trying to avoid the pressure of the steel.

His blue eyes locked with Geralt’s. The tension so visible in the stance of his body could not be seen in them. It indicated the bard was calm inside and that somehow made the witcher even more nervous. Jaskier should be panicking. Everything in that picture was so wrong.

Geralt tried to take a step forward, but that resulted only with the commander tightening his grip on Jaskier. The bard hissed. The trail of blood became wider.

„Stay where you are or I’ll cut off the bard’s pretty head”, the man warned.

Geralt lowered his guard slightly, letting the commander know he will do as he is asked. At the same time he made sure not to open the soldiers’ way to Ciri.

„Here’s the deal”, the man smiled. „The bard for the girl”.

Geralt gritted his teeth. That was no choice he was willing to make. His eyes started to frankly look around the room to find something, anything really, which would provide him with a solution to this situation. A solution where both Jaskier and Ciri walk away safe and sound.

„Decide quicker, witcher”, the commander hurried him.

„The bard has no value”, Geralt snapped and regreted the words the moment they left his mouth. He saw the hurt expresion on Jaskier’s face, even though the man suppressed it almost instantly.

„For me, certainly”, the Nilfgaardian agreed. „That’s why I’ll have no problem with slicing his throat. The question is, does he really mean nothing to you? I heard a lot about you two traveling together. Surely, you wouldn’t walk away leaving him in distress?”

Geralt hated the way Jaskier’s eyes lowered to look at the floor. As if he waited for the witcher to repeat the words from the mountain. Geralt wanted nothing more than to reassure the bard about their friendship, but the price for admitting his feelings right now could be Jaskier’s life. The witcher couldn’t have that.

„He’s just a bard. He is no asset. Leave him alone and let this matter be solved between us”, Geralt adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword. „Fight me, or are you too affraid of doing that?”.

The man laughed. It was so unpleasant laugh.

„Nice try”, he smirked and pressed his blade harder onto Jaskier’s neck. More blood poured out. Gerald reaction could only be the one ruining his whole scheme of the bard being just an unimportant stray. His body tensed preparing itself to the attack. The thing that stoped him was the expression of Jaskier’s face.

The bard wasn’t looking at the floor anymore. His blue eyes were looking straight at the witcher. In the darkened space of the inn they resembled the cloudy sky. Jaskier’s face was the one of determinated man. The man who made a decision. Geralt didn’t let the thought of what kind of decision that must have been to sink in. He refused to do that. He made a first step forward.

„Geralt”, Jaskier’s voice was pained and hoarse. It sounded nothing like him. „Protect Ciri”, he added, his eyes quickly traveling to the soldier on the left side of Geralt. It took the witcher few seconds to understand what the bard was trying to say.

Attack this soldier first.

His eyes winded in shock.

„Jaskier, no!”, he shouted, but it was too late.

The bard lunged forward, taking the commander by surprise, buying Geralt few priceless seconds to finish off the distracted Nilfgaardians. The witcher didn’t even focus on what was he cutting through. He saw red. He could hear Ciri’s frightened squeals in the background. In any other circumstances he would be concerned about her witnessing such a bloodbath. Right now though, the need for a vengeance clouded his mind.

The commander was the last one standing. Geralt bared his teeth in a true wolf grimace, walking towards him slowly. Jaskier’s sudden fall knocked his weapon out of his hand, so Nilfgaardian was left completely helpless. His face was as pale as if he was already dead. The man rose his hands and started to babble his pleadings. It was hopeless, because Geralt wasn’t in his merciful mood. Truth to be told, the witcher didn’t even distinguish the individual words the man muttered. He only saw a monster and his job was to kill such twisted creatures.

„You deserve slow and painful death”, Geralt’s voice was low. „You are lucky I don’t have a time to make you suffer”.

The witcher swung his sword. It was a plain sword, but Geralt got to know a long time ago that not every monster is the one that can be killed only with a silver blade.

There was a sound of metal hitting the flesh. The blood gushed, spraying red drops all around. Some of it hit Geralt’s face. The witcher didn’t even flinch, his lips frozen in a hateful snarl.

The head of the commander rolled on the floor. The rest of the body colapsed a mere second later with a loud thump.

Geralt took a few deep breaths, looking at his enemy’s remains.

The world around him stopped. There was only him and a headless body lying in the pool of crimson liquid. It lasted only for several heartbeats, because then he finally registered Ciri’s sobs. A moment later he started to catch the sense of words she was saying. Or rather a word. A name.

„Jaskier”, she cried. „Jaskier, please!”.

His heart froze. The image of Jaskier rushing forward, straight onto the blade pressed to his throat, played in his mind. No. No, that didn’t happen. It couldn’t have happened. The bard was fine. After all, he was always ending up being fine.

If he stayed with his back to the sobbing maybe he could convince himself that it was just a nightmare. He knew though, that it was impossible. He was only prolonging the inevitable.

Geralt slowly turned around. What he saw broke his heart into a million tiny pieces.

Ciri was kneeling in the blood. He wished it was blood of Nilfgaardians, but he knew better. Especially, since small hands of princess were tightly clinging to the sides of the green doublet. Geralt couldn’t see her face, no doubt red and stained with tears, because of pods of light hair covered it in wavy cascades. She was leaning slightly over Jaskier.

The bard lied limply on his side right in front of her.

The witcher stood there, watching that horrific scene, until he realized Jaskier’s head is lightly moving. It was all he needed to be drove back to reality. The witcher rushed forward with a speed he didn’t think was possible. He fell to his knees on the other side of the bard.

„Jaskier?”, Geralt croaked softly. He stretched out his hands to gently pull back the bards head. He was surprised to see that they were trembling slightly.

A hoarse moan escaped Jaskier’s throat, but moving the bard was worth it. Geralt was met with blue eyes. They were only half open, glazed and as if not fully present, but they were there.

„G’rlt”, he gurgled with clear difficulty. It resulted with a bloody bubble forming on his opened neck. Jaskier was literally choking on his own blood. 

„Shshsh...don’t try to speak”.

Geralt pulled away the bard’s hands, which Jaskier involuntary brough to his throat, possibly in a pointless attempt to plug the yawning hole. Then he hovered his own palms over the gash in the bard's neck, not really knowing what he was supposed to do. The wound looked terrible, though the rushing blood streams did not make it possible to judge its size.

One thing was as clear as day, though.

Jaskier was dying. It was rather a miracle that he was still alive and conscious.

„Cold”, the bard gurgled again. He started trembling slightly, a clear sign of going into the shock.

Jaskier was dying and Geralt had no way to prevent it. There was no time to look for a healer, there was no way to move Jaskier without causing more damage. He pressed his hands on the bard’s neck in a pitiful attempt to stop the blood. It only resulted with Jaskier squirming under his touch. The crimson liquid began to flow through his fingers with no less intensity. The witcher cursed under his breath.

„Why the fuck did you throw yourself on that blade!”, he roared, venting his helplessness. His vision was blurred, his eyes strangely wet.

A sticky palm wrapped around his forearm, begging for his atenttion. Gerlt realized it was Jaskier’s. He immediately turned his gaze to the bard’s face. Jaskier was pale, his already blue lips partly opened to take in quick shallow breaths. His eyes though, were focused on the witcher and very serious.

„Don’t... burn me... please”, Geralt frowned. Was the bard in delusion?. „Don’t burn”, he repeated and suddenly he was coughing violently, sending thick drops of blood all around. The witcher held him tight. He heard someone begging Jaskier to hold on, to stay. Only after a moment he realized it was his own voice.

Suddenly the bard stopped moving. His body went limp.

No more breaths. No mre heartbeat.

Geralt sobbed softly.

Jaskier was gone.

Destiny has brought him back to Geralt only to take him away in the worst possible way. Because this time it was irretrievably. This time there was no meeting again, no chances to apologize. No chances to show Jaskier that he cares. Gearlt wasted what little time they had. He lingered, waited for an undefined occasion, convinced himself he will speak with Jaskier once hey reach Kaer Morhen.

What a fool he has been.

He was suddenly feeling only hate and disgust towards himself. At the same time he also wanted to wreck havoc on every single Nilfgaardian soldier. And yet, he gently took the bard’s body in his arms, shielding it from all the gore around.

He didn’t know how long he has spent nestling Jaskier like that. Finally he let go and placed him gently on the ground. He looked at Ciri, who was quietly sitting there beside him all this time.

„I’ll prepare the pyre”, he announced. His voice void of emotion. He didn’t want to think of Jaskier burning to ashes, disappearing from the world into the pile of dust. „Stay here with him”, he ordered while heading for the door.

„No!”, he was stopped by Ciri’s protests. He immediately wanted to reasure her she will be fine, but the princess cut him off. „Don’t burn him”, she said gently.

His eyes went wide. Jaskier’s final words hit him like a tone of bricks.

This evening he buried his best friend in a shallow grave on a small meadow right outside of the village. 


End file.
